HELEN, (sinking down, and clasping Argyll's knees.)
ARGYLL.
(Tearing off the mantle that conceals her.)
My child! my Helen!
(Clasping her to his heart, and holding her there for some time, unable to speak.)
My child! my dearest child!—my soul! my pride!
Deserted!—houseless!—com'st thou to me thus?
Here is thy house—thy home: this aged bosom
Thy shelter is, which thou shalt quit no more.
My child! my child!
(Embracing her again; Helen and he weeping upon one another's necks.)
Breathes there a wretch who could desert thee?—Speak,
If he hath so abused his precious trust,
If he—it makes me tear these hoary locks
To think what I have done!—Oh thoughtless father!
Thoughtless and selfish too!
(Tearing his hair, beating his forehead with all the violent gestures of rage and grief.)
